Cools N' Coasts: Jammies Of Justice
by Quillon42
Summary: Crosses Ghosts N' Goblins with the new Aquaman film as Princess Prin-Prin Tamara from the former encounters and engages Princess Mera from the latter in battle. A certain completely unforeseeable and original twist ceases the tensions between the two and inspires one to venture forth on behalf of the other.


COOLS N' COASTS: JAMMIES OF JUSTICE

By Quillon42

(NB: I honestly always thought for the longest spell that the castle on the mountain, in the distance on the first screen of NES's _Ghosts N' Goblins_ , was actually a gray spiky-haired bulldog head with blue shades…that explains the bizarre reference below).

Shieldbearing revenants pursued their parabolic aerial patterns along the shore as the Earthen Kingdom's darling dashed deliberately along the waterline. Time's elapsing had eluded Tamara for a spell as she considered her seemingly-endless engagement to that Knight who'd trudged, travailed, and turned to bones on droves of occasions for the sake of her safety. Verily, not unlike other repeat kingdom kidnappees such Peach Toadstool, as Tamara may as well have invested in a timeshare in the enemy's estate, for as many involuntary excursions Her Highness Junior had ended up making there.

While the Princess Prin-Prin primly pantsed on many occasions in the course of underworld custody, as she watched worryingly on in the course of her castle arrest while her warrior shed his armor once and again, a small part of her was pleased upon seeing the battler in his boxers once more, the daring one decked out in all those red hearts upon his rump. It was this majestic maiden who had dressed the doughty one, after all, as before the Sir had well met her acquaintance, he was more accustomed to "going crusader" in that he had always proceeded sans shorts. But that is a rather unsavory story for another time.

What mattered now most capitally was that the celeste-tressed comely one was herself now all natty in only the slightest of beachfaring maillots, essentially a one-piece swimsuit which doubled as her own bedtime duds in the summer. This most pristine of Prins was just out now feeling free, liberated from the restrictive linens which she was forced to don on so many formal royal occasions, Tamara trying to get in touch with her fearless fiance's own autonomy in the altogether, when

[SSSSSSPPPPPLLLLLAAAAASSSSSHHHHHOOOOOMMMMM]

the cerulean regent-child was cast aside by a most uncouth swell of the sea. Emerging from the surf now was an invader with oxblood shocks upon her scalp, a beauty bedecked in what appeared to be pine-hued PJs of her own.

Given that the girl in garnet follicles had just appeared from a body of water bordering upon the Sea of Despair, and also given that her hair was a red the shade of a coarse-countenanced Satan (though not as nasty or as crappy as that of the crimson-mugged David Harbour Hellboy)…this most truculent of Tammys decided that she would not take any chances at present.

Thereby instantly whisking out a constituent of the weapon population that her one true love had gifted her, the lady of lapis lazuli locks now let fly the knife that killed many monsters in past quests.

An assault with such a flaccid dirk had not been effected upon Atlantis's own since that bastard pirate Black Panth…er, er…Black Manta had unleashed a similar brand of blade upon the beau of the undersea adventuress.

Ineffectually said knife cut past the dodging duchess of the deep and through the salty air behind her, much to the dismay of the even saltier Tamara.

Certainly this would be a formidable matchup between the femmes; even though neither had originated from a hellish place within her respective planet (but rather regularly fought against opponents from the same), both could undoubtedly be so "fire" in her unparalleled fighting ability, as the impetuous whippersnappers like to say as of these days.

(Yep, this author Quillon42 down with all the slang still even after all this time in his existence. Bout It Bout It!)

Mera felt the assailing blade as almost a caress; in fact she relished now the way in which her Majesty would seem to somehow have his hands almost multiply as they ran over the coral-tinged concourse of her flesh. The Ocean Mistress's pet name for him during these trysts was "Doc Acq" because of the apparent omnipresence of his palms and fingers upon her figure.

This redheaded babe of the blue would soon be met with ruder approaches to rouse her out of her reverie. It was the case now, in fact, that a hefty axe was hurled at her be-henna-ed head by the girl who'd gallivanted around Gehenna a dozen times too many. Mera did all she could to duck the wayward hatchet…then was scandalized to discover a scythe curling around her winsome dimensions, the sickle scraping off scraps of her crocodile-colored costume to the point at which she appeared as scantily-clad as Poison Ivy, her fellow character in mint and maroon.

Thence the demon-duress-on-the-daily Princess Tamara took out of her wondrous wazoo that pair of matching bedpans, which served dually as wedding registry gifts as well as the magical items that her man would need recover and utilize on the second time around to defeat "The" Devil on his next quest. Fortunately for Mera, neither basin was filled with anything besides bathwater.

Unfortunately for the same maiden, each was about to be occupied with some very scarlet-swathed solid material…her own noblest of noggins.

"Forsooth…the most splendid Goddess's Swirly."

And with that Tamara took the stunned carmine mane of Mera and shunted it deeply into the bowl designed for the damsel herself. The liquid lurking within the bedpan held the scent of rosewater, which made the ocean-originated siren recall all those blooms she nommed on back in Sicily. Distantly Aquaman's mistress also thought of the henchman whose cowl she had compromised near to the Mediterranean, causing him to lope toward the loo in order to huff the H20 he needed to survive. Sadly it was the latter memory that predominated now as her own face was being flushed most fully.

"Now the other receptacle ever so wrought for the runs…"

Hence Mera again, her livid florid cheeks feeling the brisk and briny air of the land kingdom's coast for a fleeting instant before her coelacanth-cooing countenance encountered the crush of concentrated toilet water once more. This time the scent was of lemon poopourri in particular, still redolent yet a mite less glamorous than the mini-cistern so proceeding.

Heavily the slinky seaductress now also felt the weight of her opponent's ravishing rear upon her back, as Prin Prin pushed the Moon Shield of her pearlescent posterior atop her elemental enemy.

"I think we're going ahead rather haunches-ly and such here," commented the beleaguered blue-banged beauty as she hopped up and down upon her enemy's head. "We're making rapid progress, in fact!"

Then once Mera was ever closer to submission here, and ever further from the sea legs she first brought to the surface, Tamara unceremoniously flipped the other femme over and then whipped out that jivin' javelin which was her gallant guy's signature sticker.

Looking down with disgust at the fair fish out of water at her feet, and menacing with the aforementioned spear, Prin Prin now:

"This can go either in your gill-laden gullet or into your Aquatwat. It's your choice."

Agonizingly writhed the madam of all that was moist, as she did all she could to utter her mission unto the other XX-chromosomed-mofo.

"Have to save him now…they're going to…kill _ARTHUR!_ "

The azure-tinged brow of the ghoul-galled girl hesitated a second, just as did a batty bastard armed with a kryptonite-tipped polearm in a reviled narrative from a couple of years back.

"What did you say that name…what did you say that for? What's happened to Arthur now?"

Again the tidal titaness ever desperately. "Must…Save… _ARTHUR…!_ "

So warily now did Tamara relent, she staying the sharp stick that would have hooked the undersea heiress, that would have made the charmer into so much chum.

Regaining some semblance of breath and composure, Mera then explained that her own Arthur Curry was captured by Lucifer Astaroth for whatever asshole reason (this author is tired and it is the end of the year and all, sorry), and that she would appreciate assistance from Prin Prin and any other might she could possibly muster. Tamara thought of her Arthur in turn, knew that he would voraciously volunteer for the quest to save the dapperest dude from the drink, and made preparations to go to him posthaste with this new and exciting assignment.

However, the most urgent of looks from the other stately lady conveyed that time was of the most instant essence, and so Tamara tarried off to undertake the rescue mission on her own (which she also knew Mera could not join as much as the latter was averse to the aridity of the underworld).

And so it was that the tension between the opposite-tressed temptresses was dissipated much in the way that that which had happened between the Dark Knight and the Man Of Steel, although here the skivvies of these sistas were far more arousing to the imagination than were the Spandex BVDs in _BVS: Dawn Of Justice_.

Tam looked out now as she set off to the expanse of the aqua adjacent to her, thinking of her own man and a recent delightful, if dangerous, vacation that they took to the coast of a neighboring domain. Art had had stygian sands kicked in his face by a most insidious and infernal entity, a ferocious fire demon that still enjoyed winging it all along the waters, indeed an evil more surfer than _Thor: Ragnarok_ 's Surtur. Yet the most Artsy adventurer had still regained his lady, and the latter recalled now how he risked on that adventure not his armor but rather his tan to save her, risking it all to obtain the almighty boogie board and wing it at the features, again and again, of the literal two-faced fright that reigned over those infernal sands. As sure as the spiky-haired blue-shades-ed bulldog watched as a stalwart sentinel spirit over the unreal estate of the royal cemetery back home, Tamara was certain of the devotion her betrothed had maintained for her.

Such dedication must have been imbued into the bond between this Mera and her own, Aquatic Arthur as well. Tamara could not deign, then, to drive her lethal lance into the deadly (and delectable) figure of her fairest finny foess.

In fact, it would be the case that the aforementioned dubious cinematic inspiration would befall Prin-Prin to help rescue Mera's man. Yea, just as a pathetic pretender to a Knight much Darker, an incompetence-afflicted Affleck would so save the foster mother of the Fortress of Solitude's tenant, so too would Tammy take on and trounce those who had taken the other Arthur, she doing so in turn through magic torches acting as firewalls against a full assault against her, a magic crossbow to fire grappling lines to trip up the toughs against her, her own precious Bracelet to act as a workaround Batarang again and again against the enemy, and most notably many impulsive tumblesauces and other similar acts of nimbleness on Prin's part in order to reach the vulnerable cargo of His Majesty Curry.

(This author honestly believes that the most boorish of Bens had actually done a serviceable job as _Daredevil_ over a decade ago, to be fair).

Prevailing in the end would be the redoubtable Prin-Prin in fact, and her legend would grow to approach that of the hero who hauled her own frame out of the inferno infinite times before. By the time the Princess Tam was through with all this, though, it would be very late, and she would have to get back to the Arthur of her own. She would check her watch fob, and even after her elaborate extraction of Aquaman would be so pleased to find that there was still remaining thirty seconds of the three-minute allotment that all subjects of the Kingdom were permitted to spend in any area. Waving goodbye to the waves-weaned witch Mera, then, as well as to her grungy yet gracious husband, the Prinstress would pad off quickly to return to her regal family as well as to her adoring adept whose armor she would soon, most readily and randily anon, so wrench away from his frame with but a delicate press from her dainty palm.


End file.
